New Traditions
by WhyAye
Summary: Hobson and Hathaway are worried about Lewis spending Christmas alone.  He shows them they needn't fret.  And he invites Laura to begin some new traditions with him.  My Christmas gift to fellow Robbie/Laura shippers.
1. Chapter 1

It's Robbie Lewis's round. He waits at the bar, patient (as he nearly always is), while the pints are filled. _Hathaway __**would**__ have to have stout. Takes bloody forever to pour_.

At the table where he had been sitting, James Hathaway and Laura Hobson put their heads together and speak with low voices.

"Has he told you what he's doing for Christmas?" The doctor's tone is full of tense concern.

"No, not a word, even though I keep hinting that I'd like to know if he has as little planned as I do. He seems cheery enough, I must say."

"He always does, you can't go by that. We'll have to confront him. No way should he spend the holidays alone. This time of year, he can't seem to avoid thinking about how Val died just days before Christmas."

"I'll leave the confronting to you, Doctor, if that's alright. I still have to work with the man after the holidays."

She grimaces. "Thank you. Nice way to dodge any responsibility for the outcome. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure he makes it to twenty-eleven."

Lewis at last returns to the table and sets down the four pints. Laura clears her throat. "Erm, Robbie . . .?"

He catches her tone, and looks up sharply, cocking his head. "Yeah?"

When Laura doesn't speak immediately, Lewis looks from one to the other, and his visage becomes more stern. "This sounds like some sort of bollocking coming up, am I right?"

Laura swallows, glancing at James for moral support. "We want to be certain you will be, erm . . . constructively occupied over the holidays."

In response to his scowl, she continues hastily. "You don't have to say what you're doing, but we want to be certain you know that if things get . . . _difficult_ for you at any point, you can call either of us, day or night." Her expression softens and she puts a hand on his arm. "We all know this time of year brings back some very sad memories for you, Robbie. Please let us help if we can, that's all."

He twists a bit of a smile. "Y'know, I've been dealing with this for years, now. And so far, I've made it through every bloody holiday season, alright?"

He takes a deep breath, and continues. "As a matter of fact, I've found a rather satisfying means of not only making it through Christmas, but looking forward to it, and feeling good about it afterwards. So if you two are so totally concerned about me, maybe you should join me on Christmas day."

Hobson and Hathaway glance at each other, checking to see if the other of them has any idea what Lewis is talking about. It is clear that neither of them does.

Lewis drums his fingers on the table. The heat in his face indicates he feels he has thrown them both a challenge: _If you care about me as much as you say, come with me on Christmas and you'll see what fuels me_.

"I'll go." Laura trusts him enough to sign on blindly.

But Hathaway isn't willing to commit without more information. "So, what exactly do you do on Christmas, Sir?"

Lewis looks cagey. "Aw, no. Either you're in or you're out. Do you trust me, Sergeant?"

Hathaway stalls, sipping his stout and considering the residue from the foam.

"Let me put it another way, Hathaway. Are you doing anything on Christmas day that's really important? If not, you have nothing to lose."

"Fine, I'm in. Now what, exactly, will we be doing?"

Lewis grins broadly. "We'll be volunteering at Pinewood for the day." He assesses their blank looks. "It's, erm, what do they call it . . . a 'secure training centre'—kiddy nick. Youth offenders. Me and the other coppers who volunteer, we help out with the holiday party, play some footie, serve them their special Christmas tea, y'know. Make it a fun day for the lads."

Laura furrows her brow. "And will I be able to help out too, even though I'm female?"

He gives her a grin that is a bit leering. "Oh, yeah. They _love_ the ladies that visit. You'll probably be helping with the food, if that's alright. Though the lads will wish it was more than that. They'll all fall in love with you." His smile morphs into something far more friendly and warm. "Not many civilian women visit the prison. You'll make a huge impression." Then his brow furrows a little. "Actually, your being a civilian may be a bigger problem. I'll ring over there today and make sure we'll be able to get you in."

Then he refocuses and continues. "So, we all gather at Pinewood at around ten in the morning. Shall we drive up together?"

Hobson thinks for half a second. "How about I'll do breakfast? I'll come collect you boys and bring you to my place at, say, half-seven or eight? We'll eat and then drive up together? Then I can simply drop you at your houses afterward."

Lewis grins broadly. "That'd be terrific!"

Hathaway looks less ecstatic, but can't resist the tide of enthusiasm. "Sounds like it might be fun."

Lewis holds his sergeant by both shoulders. "It's not _fun_, it's revitalizing. You feel alive again. Especially if you haven't felt that way on Christmas in a long time. Believe me." His eyes penetrate, as though they can see through Hathaway's skull and into his brain.

Hathaway's eyes drop for a second. _Does Lewis __**know**__ how empty I feel on Christmas?_ He decides it's merely coincidence, and resolves to go ahead with this activity and see if maybe it's what he's been looking for to fill the empty space that for a long time has been Christmas for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Laura has prepared a sumptuous breakfast, full English and then some. There's black pudding for Robbie (his special favorite, she knows), an incredible bacon-and-mushroom quiche of which Hathaway cannot get enough, eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, toast, marmalade, home-made muesli, tea, coffee, fruit . . . everything. By half-nine, they're stuffed, and only Lewis's call to duty rouses them from lethargy.

They take Laura's car and the drive up to the facility is easy; traffic is light on the holiday morning. Robbie has several shopping bags full of gifts for the boys, although Hathaway notices he has not wrapped them.

"Not very festive without wrappings, are they?"

"Ah, I can't. They have to be checked through security, y'know. Worse than an airport."

Hathaway is again reminded that they are, in fact, at a prison when the three are processed and registered as visitors. Keys, wallets, mobiles, and the like must be left at the door, IDs are checked, names logged, and visitor badges handed out.

The gifts are put under the big Christmas tree and the three are given approval to enter. They greet the other volunteers and sip coffee while the organizer gives a brief orientation and makes assignments.

Some of the boys have family visiting. For those who do not, each police officer is assigned to a boy, starting with the youngest. They pair up like this for some of the activities, but for others, they're simply one big group.

Hathaway is paired with Andy Carson, fourteen, and thin as a rail. They are the last two to be paired. Andy sizes up the policeman skeptically.

"Hi, Andy. I'm James." He holds out his hand, and the boy takes it, shaking it solemnly.

"How come you're not with your family today?" The boy's tone is accusatory.

Hathaway swallows. Nothing less than total honesty will do here. "My family doesn't get on so well. Christmas is, erm . . . not a happy time for us. I'd rather be with my friends."

Andy assesses him frankly for a moment, then breaks into a tentative smile. "Mine's like that, too."

James snorted with wry humor. "Well, families. You can't choose 'em, can't kill 'em."

Andy looks at him sideways. "Yeah, you can. Kill 'em, I mean."

Hathaway snorts again, really finding this rather funny. "I s'pose I should know better, my line of work. Family members kill each other all the time, don't they? Usually they're the prime suspects, in fact."

The boy squints, this time really weighing Hathaway's credibility. "You do murders?"

"Yep, that's my specialty."

"Cool."

"It's not for everyone. Lots of blood. And sometimes you feel bad if you can't find the killer. But I like it."

"I don't mind blood. Maybe I should be a murder policeman."

"Detective. You have to be a detective to get to solve murders. Are you good at puzzles?"

Andy beams. "Yeah, I'm real good at those ones where you have to figure out who has what job and is tallest and all."

"Logic problems?"

"I guess. Is that what they are?"

"Yeah. Like Sherlock Holmes used to solve. You know him?"

Andy frowns and shakes his head. "Was he with the Met?"

Hathaway fails to suppress his laugh and is sorry when he sees Andy's face darken and close. "Sherlock Holmes is a great detective in stories, written long ago, but still really good. I'm sorry I laughed, Andy. I'm actually a little nervous, here."

He can see the boy is won over by his honesty, and offers what he hopes is an olive branch. "Do you read much?"

"Yeah, I can read pretty good. There's nothing here to read, though. I been through it all."

"People can send books in to you, yeah?" The boy nods. "I'll send you some Sherlock Holmes. See if you can figure them out before the end." He smiles, genuinely. "And, Andy?"

"Yeah, James?"

"Will you write me, and let me know how you like them? If you do like them, I'll send you more. I'll send you all of them, if you'd like. You don't have to send them back. They kept me going when I was a kid."

Andy pats James's hand reassuringly. "I'll be your friend as long as you like. I don't have too many, so it's not hard for me to keep up with the couple I have."

Hathaway can't help but hug the kid, rubbing his knuckles over Andy's head. "How the bloody hell did you end up here, anyway?" He ducks his head in contrition. "I know, I'm not supposed to ask that. Sorry."

"'S'okay. I was in with some older guys who held up a shop and killed the guy at the cash register. I didn't have anyone else to hang with. But they all fingered me, even though I didn't do nothin'. They knew I wouldn't get much of a sentence since I was juvie."

"Nice."

"My home life pretty much sucks so I don't mind being here so much. No one hits me here."

James winces inwardly. _There but for the grace of God . . ._ "You have any heroes, Andy?"

"Aw, yeah, Andy Carroll! Our names are a lot alike." He notices Hathaway's blank expression. "Andy Carroll? Number nine, striker for Newcastle United?"

"Ah, now you're talking about something my guv'nor would know about." He nods toward where Lewis is playing cards with a boy. "He's a Newcastle fan." James notices with a little twinge the hint of envy that flickers across Andy's face as he looks at the other two. "Have you ever tried writing to him? Maybe he'd send you a photograph."

The lad casts his eyes down. "I can't. I don't write so good. And I can't ask for help 'cos the other boys would laugh at me."

"How about I help you write it? Could we work on that together?"

His face brightened. "Would you?"

Hathaway nods and Andy fetches paper and pencil. He writes the words slowly; James helps him with spelling mostly, wanting to leave it in the boy's own words as much as possible. When they're done, Andy looks over the paper proudly. But then his face falls again.

"I don't know where to send it."

"If you trust me to post it for you, I can find out when I can get to a computer. Would that be alright?"

Andy draws a protective shell of cynicism around himself. "Whatever. Not going out any other way. Anyway, he probably won't answer."

"Well, if he doesn't, it's not because you didn't try."

Hathaway contemplates Andy as he gets up and heads to the canteen: they've been called to Christmas dinner. How close did he come to being like the boy? Perhaps the only difference was the availability of older, criminally-inclined acquaintances for Andy. When Hathaway was that age, he knew almost no one, criminal or saint.

They gather for dinner, each person taking a grey tray and loading it up as the servers allow: one scoop of this, two of those, no more than that, and so on. Laura smiles at each of them as they load up their trays. The food looks marginally edible, but Hathaway notices the relish with which the inmates consider their trays.

He finds Lewis and sits by him. "Are we really supposed to eat this?"

Lewis chuckles. "Eat what you're given and be grateful for it. It's a lesson in humility, if nothing else. Those never come cheaply."

About mid-afternoon, a football match is organized, the final activity of the day. The adults are split as evenly as possible between the two teams: The Rock, with red vests, and Hard Place in green. Lewis, one of The Rock, notices Hathaway's rather lost expression as he gets assigned to Hard Place.

"Don't tell me you don't play!"

"I was never very good at ball sports. I've never actually dribbled a football."

Lewis grins and calls to the Hard Place captain. "Here's your keeper!"

The captain sizes up Hathaway. "Yeah, big lad, he'll do."

Hathaway throws a panicked look at Lewis. "What do I do?"

"Keep the ball out of the net, a'course." Chuckling at James's dissatisfaction with this answer, he continues. "You can use your hands as long as you're inside the box. See the box, here?" He points to the lines on the field. "If you grab it, heave it as far as you can down the field. Try to get it to one of your men. And if no one's clear, don't throw it straight up the middle. You have to try to anticipate. Watch the guy that's clear, not necessarily the guy with the ball." He smiles amicably. "It's a _game_, Hathaway, okay? It's supposed to be fun. You'll do fine." Lewis heads off to his position at midfield.

The teams are rather evenly matched and the men and boys are in good spirits. Although The Rock scores early against Hard Place, Hathaway rather quickly gets the knack for his position, falling into a rhythm and stopping ball after ball. The first half ends with an even score, one-all, and as James gulps down some much-needed water, one of the older boys throws and arm around his shoulder.

"Nice stop you made, mate. Is it true you've never done this before?"

"Erm, yeah. First time as keeper."

"You're a natural, then." The boy smiles and then goes for his own water. Hathaway is surprised by how thoroughly the compliment warms him and he starts the second half with much more confidence.

The half goes well for Hard Place, and they're ahead by one as the final minutes count down. But The Rock is going all out for the equalizer, and James is called on again and again to prevent the score. The ball is passed rapidly between The Rock forwards and he scrambles to keep up with it. In the space of a fraction of a second, Hathaway realizes three things: he's been lured into focusing on the ball; there's a free Rock player to his left, too far to stop when the man gets the ball; and it's Lewis, who nails the ball hard into the net behind James.

The momentum carries Lewis into him they end up in a tangle on the ground. Lewis gets up and offers his hand to Hathaway, pulling James to his feet and grinning like a madman. As he trots back to his kickoff position, Hathaway calls after him.

"I _let_ you do that, you know, Sir!"

The match ends in a draw, which makes no one unhappy, especially the guards. Red-faced and sweating, the boys and the volunteers clap each other on the back; Christmas greetings are shouted all around along with promises to do this again next year.

James is ready to head back home. But he glimpses Andy standing outside the gathering room, an angry expression on his face.

"Hey, man, what's with the scowl?"

The boy jerks away, facing the wall rather than look at Hathaway.

Hathaway tries his best hunch. "You think I'm done here, I'm going home and forgetting about you?" James nudges Andy on the shoulder. "Is that what you think?"

"Everyone does. Just get out of here, okay?"

Hathaway sags, he feels as though he's about to cry, and he's not sure why. "Look, Andy, what I said about sending you books. I meant that. I will do it. I promise."

Andy doesn't move.

James continues. "I really enjoyed my time here today. I didn't think I would, to be honest. Just trying to please my friend who roped me into this. But then I met you, and the day took a big turnaround." He struggles to put into words what has happened to him this day. "I never thought I'd find anyone else who was facing all this . . . crap from life, and still wanted to try to outsmart Sherlock Holmes. I know you don't know him. But that's what you want to do. And you will, when you read the stories. Some of them, at least." Hathaway takes a breath to steady himself.

"Write me, will you? And tell me which ones you figure out before the end? Hey?"

At last, Andy looks at him. "Will you think less of me if I don't figure out any of them?"

Hathaway studies him. _Honesty. Always honesty_. "Yeah, I will. I think you'll get at least half of them. Maybe not at first, but once you see how he does it, you'll catch on." He breaks into a smile when he sees one creep across Andy's face.

"Andy? You know what? You're my Christmas present, I think. You okay with that?"

The boy snorts. "Yeah, I'm okay. James, you're the coolest copper I ever met." His eyes continued what he was saying: _Please don't disappoint me_.

Hathaway grabs him in a bear hug. "You haven't heard the last of me, okay? Happy Christmas, Andy!"


	3. Chapter 3

As the volunteers head for the car park, Lewis and Hathaway wait by the entrance for Laura.

Lewis squints at an ambiguous point in the distance. "You never _let_ us score, that was all due to me superior skill."

"Well, you'll never know that, will you? I only let in that one other goal, and that was before I found my stride." James smirks at his guv'nor. He can tell the seed of doubt he just planted has firmly taken root.

Lewis eyes him obliquely, but says nothing. Then he smiles to himself. _Hathaway enjoyed himself here today, I know. Let him think whatever he wants to think._

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Laura hurries over after checking out. She appraises their flushed faces. "Looks like you two have been getting a workout. I heard there was a friendly footie match. Who won?"

Hathaway is still smug. "It was a two-two draw. But only barely."

Lewis snorts loudly.

Laura narrows her eyes. She can tell there's something not being said. Judging by James's smirk and Robbie's scowl, the joke is on the older man. She decides the spirit of Christmas requires her to pursue it no further.

She puts holiday music on the car stereo on the way home and they all sing along with the catchier numbers. Laura notices vaguely that Lewis is quiet all the way, and she frequently catches him looking at her.

When they arrive at Hathaway's flat, the younger man hesitates before getting out of the car. He's completely serious now.

"Sir, I want to thank you for challenging me to do this. You're right, I do feel good. I know I really helped that boy, Andy, today; made a real difference in his day."

"I remember the first year I did this, too. I knew right then it's how I want to spend me Christmas each year. I'm glad you found it worthwhile."

James shifts to a more teasing mode. "Yeah, it really puts me in a giving mood, wanting to be generous to the less fortunate." He wiggles his eyebrows with implication.

Lewis grimaces. "I scored that goal fair and square, Sergeant. Now get on inside before I have to prove who's better at making snowballs, too."

With a hearty chuckle, Hathaway turns and scoots to his door. "Happy Christmas to you both!" He waves his farewell and goes inside.

Laura is laughing softly and shaking her head. "You two are so competitive, it's amazing you can stay together as partners. Scored a goal on him, did you?"

"He's not man enough to admit it." Lewis sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.

"Now, now, where's your Christmas spirit, Robbie?"

He harrumphed a bit more. "Alright, then, I appreciate his generosity in making it look as though I scored that goal purely because of my skill. But if he were truly that generous, he'd let me think I'd done it meself."

They smile at each other and lapse into wordlessness, listening to the music as Laura drives Lewis home.


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrive, he makes no move toward getting out of the car. Instead, he stares out the window at the darkened flat, his slow breaths misting the glass.

"Robbie?"

Lewis swallows. "Laura, I wonder if you'd like to come in for a drink or coffee or something?" He doesn't turn toward her and she thinks his voice sounds perhaps a little choked.

"Of course, that would be nice." She's frankly concerned about him; the last thing she'd do would be to leave him alone on Christmas when he has made such an undisguised request for company.

She parks the car and they go in, Lewis flipping on the light as they enter. The switch activates a single lamp, and in the golden glow it casts, Laura sees a small fir tree in a pot standing on the coffee table. A sprinkling of glinting baubles hang from its branches.

"You have a Christmas tree!" She claps her hands together delightedly.

He smiles, a little embarrassed. "Yeah. Y'know, Val used to love the holidays. I realized that by trying to ignore them I was doing her a dishonor. I decided to see if I could revive some of the traditions she and I used to share. I mean, sometimes it hurts a little, but it's going to hurt anyway, and worse if I pretend I don't care about Christmas."

She studies him, checking to see how much pain he's in right now. _Maybe a little sentimental tug, but otherwise he seems okay_. "I think that's very sweet, Robbie."

He is inclined to explain further. "We used to have a regular-size tree, but I thought that might be a bit much for me, especially 'cos I wasn't sure I could handle the reminder and might have to take it down. And I only saved a few of our ornaments, not enough for a big tree. Besides, this one I can plant in the garden in the spring. It seemed like it'd make a nice memorial."

She beams at him.

He snaps out of his reverie. "Sorry, where are me manners? What would you like to drink?"

"Have you got any red wine?"

"A'course I have wine!" He goes to the cupboard and pulls out a bottle. "How about this? Shiraz, our Ken sent from Australia."

"Sounds lovely."

He works on opening it and pouring two glasses while Laura circles the small tree, admiring the little glass and silver things hanging on it.

"Here. Cheers." They clink glasses together.

"Mmm, nice." She holds the glass out, studying it. Then she points to a crystal star near the top of the tree. "This is beautiful."

"Ah, that was Val's favorite. We always called it 'her' star. I look at that and . . ." He doesn't finish and ends with a little sniff. Laura looks at him swiftly; his eyes are wet and shining.

"I'm sorry, Robbie. I didn't mean to . . ." She's whispering.

"No, it's okay. I have to expect . . ." He takes a deep breath. "In fact, I'm really glad you agreed to come in tonight. There are a couple other traditions Val and I used to do every year, but I can't do them m'self. I was hoping you'd help me with them."

She cocks her head, curious now. "Such as? You know I want to help you, Robbie."

"Well, we'd always read _A Christmas Carol_ aloud. When it was the whole family, we'd all do different characters. Val did all the narrating; said she was no good at voices." He was smiling inwardly at the memories. "When it got to be just her and me, I did all the voices." He gazes down at Laura a bit sheepishly. "Reading it aloud by m'self with no one else listening seems, well . . . a bit weird."

A smile spreads slowly across her face. "What a nice tradition. I'd be glad to do that. You want me to narrate?"

He's grinning broadly at her acceptance. "Yeah, that'd be great. It's just here—" he reaches to the bookshelf and pulls down a worn volume bound in red leather. "We used to each have a copy, but this is the only one I have now. It used to be me granddad's."

They sit close together on the settee, and he holds the book open across their laps. His arm between them seems to get in the way, so he switches the book to his outside hand and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. She glances at his face, but he is intent on the pages. She takes hold of the volume on her side, and together they turn to the first page.

"Marley was dead: to begin with." She begins. And so they read the entire story, stopping now and again to refill their wine glasses and once to have some cheese and crack open some walnuts.

"… and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!" After a moment's pause, Laura releases her grasp on the book and Lewis closes it slowly, setting it down beside him. He keeps holding her close, though.

Laura smiles up at him. "I liked that, a lot." She's studying his expression, trying to see how the reading affected him. He's inscrutable. "What would you and Val do after that?" It's all she can think to say in the silence that has overtaken them.

"Well, we usually exchanged our gifts to each other." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "I wish I had a little something for you to unwrap."

She smiles. "Then I'd be left with nothing to give in exchange. So it's just as well. And then what?"

He gives a small smile. "We'd make a promise to each other for the coming year." He swings his head toward her, his gaze all at once incredibly intense. "I'd like to renew that tradition, too, if you're willing." He's not smiling any more.

She's a bit taken aback. _Promise?_ "What sort of promise?"

He recites with his gaze unwavering. "I promise you I will do whatever I can to make the coming year the best ever for us." Then he blinks and smiles. "You don't have to say it if you don't want to."

"Robbie . . . ?" She finds she's breathing heavily, can't stop herself—_us?_

He doesn't answer, he's waiting for her to finish her question.

"You're making that promise _to me?_" She isn't certain she should dare to ask.

"Yes, Laura. I promise _you_ I will do whatever I can to make the coming year the best ever for us." His smile turns nervous. "I'm pushing you too far, aren't I?"

_This is it! This is him telling me how he feels! _"No, Robbie, not too far at all. I . . . _Yes_, I want to make that promise to you. Help me with it. I promise you . . ."

". . . I will do whatever I can . . ."

". . . I will do whatever I can . . ." she repeats.

". . . to make the coming year the best ever for us."

". . . to make the coming year the best ever for us." She smiles at her accomplishment, and repeats: "For _us_."

His eyes are sparkling now. "Then we kiss, to seal the promise."

"We kiss?" She wants to be certain she heard that correctly.

Her question tempers him a little. "Only if you want to."

"We kiss." She leans toward him and he pulls her close. Their lips touch for a moment and he pulls back a fraction of an inch. But she's right after him, and this time their kiss has fire, a heat that warms the two of them. He wraps both his arms around her now, as though he will never let her go.

At last he breaks the kiss, slightly breathless, and smiling a quirky little smile.

She's smiling, too. "You know, I thought you asked me inside because you were afraid to be alone. That wasn't exactly it, was it?"

He's been called out, and he knows it. He drops his eyes. "Ah, no. I really wanted to share these things with you. And I hoped you'd want to share them with me."

"Yes, absolutely. I can't believe how happy I feel right now." She snuggles into him. After a moment of simply holding him, another thought occurs to her.

"So, are there any more of these traditions? What would you do after the promise and kiss?"

A sly look creeps across his face. "Well, next . . . we'd turn out the lights and go to bed and make love half the night." He raises his eyebrows, looking directly at her and anticipating her question. "Only if you want to."

"Mmm." She fingers the buttons of his shirt, undoing one. "Looks like I have something to unwrap after all." Then she stands, grinning, and holds out her hand to pull him up. "Where's that light switch?"

He rises and brings her in for another long kiss; their bodies are becoming thoroughly heated now. He gets the light and they head for his bedroom, each of them trying not to look overeager.

But when they get there, Laura pulls back, her brow furrowed. "Robbie . . . I'm, erm . . . not on birth control."

"Look, we don't have to do this if you're not ready. But I thought maybe you wouldn't be prepared, so I got these." He opens the nightstand drawer and brings out a small handful of foil packets. She smiles broadly.

"_You_ bought condoms? You were that certain you'd get me this far?"

He twists a wry smile. "_Hoped_ I'd get you this far. Seemed worth the investment, just in case." Then he frowns. "It's been a long time since I bought anything like this, I can't believe all the choices I had to make." Smiling again, a bit naughty: "I thought I'd be presuming a bit much to get one of the flavored varieties."

She snorts. "That's definitely presuming a bit much." But she continues, despite his attempt to conceal a slightly disappointed expression. "If—no, _when_ I do _that_ with you, Robbie, I want to taste _you_, not some strawberry-flavored latex." She smirks at his astonished look. "Now, shall we get this tradition underway before Christmas is over?"


End file.
